


White and Black

by Amagifu



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Fluff and Crack, Geeky, Gen, Humor, Minas Tirith, Stark Tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amagifu/pseuds/Amagifu
Summary: Never trust anything found in Tony Stark’s laboratory.





	White and Black

Clint slowly turned in place to survey the laboratory, shaking his head as he did so.  
“Tony's not normally this late.”  
Natasha leaned against one of the many worktables, keeping her partner and the main entrance in her line of sight. She crossed her arms.  
“True. Say what you will about him, but punctuality is normally one of his strong points.”  
“Weren't Bruce and Steve supposed to show up here, too?”  
“That's what I thought.”  
Clint smirked.  
“Maybe we're caught in some weird time vortex?”  
Natasha rolled her eyes.  
“Again? No, I think this is more like Statisticians' Day. Hey, maybe you should play the lottery when we leave here. The odds might be good.”  
Clint grimaced but continued his perusal of the room.  
Natasha rummaged in a pocket for her smartphone, hoping for any note from the others, but her brow furowed as she heard her partner cry out in glee.  
“Sweet! Nat, look at this!”  
She meandered over to where the archer had laid his hands on a long, pale, slender object, flared at one end into a latticework taper.  
“Huh. Looks like Gandalf's staff.”  
Clint gaped at her.  
“Wait, you've actually seen the Lord of the Rings movies? I thought you disdained them in favor of just relying on the books.”  
Natasha raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Are you kidding? Miranda Otto as Eowyn, facing down the Witch King? I watched the hell out of that.”  
“Yeah, but you didn't watch the extended editions with us when we last all got together here.”  
“Oh, stop pouting. I don't care how comfy the entertainment room is here in Stark Tower, I just couldn't handle thirteen hours of Tony reciting dialogue line by line when I'm trying to watch the marathon.”  
Clint hefted the staff in one hand, easily as tall as he was. His eyes glinted with mischief as he struck a dramatic pose.  
“Heh. Look, I'm a Maiar. You cannot pass!”  
She gaped at her partner, continually bewildered by his need to grab objects he fixated on. “Clint, put that down.”  
“What? Tony's not here. Besides, it's just a prop. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor!”  
Natasha snorted her derision. “You wish. Seriously, put the staff down. Think about it for two seconds. Why would Tony have 'just a prop' in his workshop? Hmmm?”  
Clint gestured vaguely with his free hand. “You're overthinking this. You know how much of a Tolkien geek he is. And, like we're going to somehow magically port ourselves into Middle Earth? That'd be fun, but come on, Nat, it's just a story. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!”  
“Do I look like a Balrog? Gah. Give me that.”  
“Hey! Go find Sting to cosplay with. Go back to the Shadow!”  
“Clint, why do you keep quoting Gandalf?”  
“I am? You cannot pass!”  
Both of them gripped the staff, as the world flashed white.  
\-----  
When she could see again, Natasha stared at Clint, who returned the wide-eyed gaze. They were rooted in place by something deeper than fear.  
She hissed, “What just happened?”  
They kept their collective grip on the staff, knuckles white, only their eyes moving as they tried to focus on their surroundings.  
Clint blinked rapidly, struggling to clear his vision. “Nat, it's very white. Why is Tony's lab suddenly so white?”  
She slowly moved her head to one side, taking in the elegant metal lighting fixtures, the enormous tapestry wall hanging, and the pale stonework of the room they found themselves in. Breathless, she murmured, “Because it's not Tony's lab. Not unless he snuck in here and did a rapid-fire remodeling while we blinked.”  
“Ahh, my staff. How good of you to return it to me.”  
Both the assassins yelped in surprise and spun to face the source of that voice, eerily familiar. Clint clutched the staff to his chest while Natasha moved to reach for any number of weapons on her person.  
“That won't be necessary, my dear. Stand down, please.”  
By some instinct not her own, she complied.  
Numerous encounters with aliens and gods and any number of villians did not prepare either of them for the sight of the wizened old man who stood tall before them, his eyes twinkling with merriment.  
After a few false starts, Natasha finally stammered, “This isn't possible.”  
“I assure you, it is.”  
“But you're not real!”  
The old man lifted an eyebrow at Clint. “Am I not? Your associate was about to test just how real I am.”  
He suddenly gave them both a long, hard stare, and in that moment Natasha was certain that he knew who and what they were, and what they were not.  
“Gandalf?”  
As if one shock wasn't enough; the dark-haired man who paused in the doorway to the room and studied the newcomers with wary interest could have knocked Natasha and Clint over with a feather. He rested one hand on the sword on his hip.  
“Ahh, Aragorn, not to worry. These messengers were returning my staff to me.”  
“Oh? Arriving unannounced, in my antechamber, past the citadel guards?” He now openly stared at them, at their unusual clothing and appearance.  
“They are adept at stealth.”  
Clint's mouth kept falling open. Without moving his gaze, he leaned over to his partner.  
“Nat? What the hell?”  
She tried to make reason with who and what she saw, and came to a conclusion, unlikely as it seemed to her modern mind. “Minas Tirith. Clint, we're in the White City! Bozhe moi.”  
Gandalf nodded in amused approval, as he stepped forward and gently removed Clint’s hands from the staff. “Quite correct.”  
Aragorn gave the wizard a sharp look. “Should I...”  
“No, that won't be necessary. They were just leaving.”  
The assassins, startled, looked at each other. “We were?”  
“Of course. Your mission is complete. Your compatriots are anxiously awaiting your return.”  
Natasha tried to stall. “Wait, but we wanted to know...”  
Gandalf’s gaze pierced her, his eyes suddenly all she could see. “I'm certain that you do, but there are some things that must lie hidden.”  
“Nat...?”  
The world flashed white.  
\-----  
“Okay, you two, where's the staff?”  
Natasha shook herself to clear the cobwebs. Tony stood before them, indignation on his face and in his stance. Steve and Bruce stood nearby, confused.  
“Tony...”  
“For once, Natasha, just answer me straight. Where is it?”  
Clint blinked, then shakily exhaled. “We returned it.”  
“What?! That wasn't yours to return!”  
Natasha stepped between the two men.  
“Tony, where did you get that staff?”  
“From an auction. Why?”  
“Did you get the provenance on it? Who owned it prior?”  
“Some eccentric old guy from England. Why?”  
Natasha and Clint shared a wary look. Tony's temper began to cool, the scientist in him picking up on their nonverbal cues. “Guys, what's going on?”  
She paused before replying. “I'm not yet certain. But, you'll have to trust me, it was the right thing for us to do.”  
As Tony tried to pry more information out of Clint, Natasha slowly walked over to Bruce, whose gaze kept flicking from Clint's ashen face to her wide-eyed look.  
“Natasha, you look like you've seen a ghost.”  
She sighed, feeling a loss she didn’t realize she had missed until now. “More than you realize, Bruce.”


End file.
